Happenstance
by Alice Dread
Summary: Daryl X OC. Revised! He should have kept walking. All sense and logic in this new world told him to. But something made him come back. Something compelled him to help me. Something told him that I was worth saving. Now I know it was loneliness. But the truth is, he wasn't the only one who was lonely. And he wouldn't have to feel it again.
1. Chapter 1

**Story is set after the finale of season 3. Daryl X OC. I do not own The Walking Dead or any of its characters. Enjoy.**

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I had no idea where I was. My memory was blank. The woods around me were dark and sinister. I could hear walkers moving all around me, but I couldn't move my body to run or fight. The ground beneath me was cold and moist, the wetness seeping into my clothes and chilling my bones. I would have shivered if I wasn't afraid of making a noise. I couldn't defend myself against the approaching threat, so all I could do was lay still and hope nothing noticed me.

A foot stepped into my peripheral vision. It was bare and gnarled, one toe missing and the others broken. I rolled my eyes to see who the foot belonged to.

The walker beside me was tall and emaciated. His body was still relatively intact, all limbs remaining and functioning as they should. He was bald and grey, his jaw slack and crooked. He sniffed the air and searched the area with a sweep of his head.

He was looking for me. He could smell me.

That was when I felt the crustiness of my clothes. I couldn't look down to inspect myself, but I knew what it was. I was covered in blood. It was thick and smelled of rot. I knew it was walker blood. That might have been the only thing keeping me alive.

I couldn't remember why my clothes were soaked in walker blood, but as the corpses began mulling around the clearing where I lay, I was grateful for it. And as I lay in my bed of mud and leaves, I felt the ache. An ache that seemed to overtake me. It started in my feet, where the dirt caked my boots. Then it moved up my legs to my knees, where my jeans had been shredded. The ache traveled to my hips and belly, cold from the dewy ground. It crept up over my ribs, past my shoulders, up the back of my neck, and to my forehead. That was when I began assessing my true condition.

Tired feet, scraped knees, hips defined by starvation, a belly bruised and hungry, broken ribs, one dislocated shoulder, a sore neck, and a wet, bubbly gash above my left eyebrow. What the hell happened to me?

As the walkers continued filling the space around me, my body was overcome with pain. Coldness, and pain. I wanted to writhe, to scream, to lash out at these monsters just so they could feel my pain. But I knew they wouldn't. And I knew that if I moved or made a sound, I would be as good as dead. So I lay still and quiet, burying a pain that felt worse than death.

Minutes passed like hours. The walkers passed like slugs. Once in a while, one would kick me or stumble over me, and it was becoming harder and harder to stay motionless and silent. The horde kicked leaves up over me as they passed, hiding me from sight. I took a deep breath, realizing that I had been holding it for some time now. The stabbing pain in my chest reprimanded me, and I almost groaned. At this point, being eaten by zombies was sounding a lot nicer than lying in the state I was in.

Just when I thought it couldn't get worse, a walker bumped me, all but kicking me directly in my ribs. I cried out before I could stop myself. The sound of my scream echoed through the trees and bounced back to my terrified ears. My eyes were wide as I looked around at all the walkers, who had frozen in their places. They looked around, sniffing, snarling, growing even more agitated. I lay frozen, not even a breath in my throat. The corpse that bumped into me looked down at me, trying to figure out what I was. All I could do was stare up in horror through the leaves that covered me. My mind whispered prayers and goodbyes. My body hoped for a quick death. My eyes closed tightly.

A shout pulled the walkers' attention from me. They looked up through the trees. Two fell immediately with arrows in their skulls. A few growled and lunged at something out of my line of vision, but they were grounded quickly, heads split open.

My heart raced as one by one, the walkers were taken down. Five, ten, fifteen. I lost count as the last of the corpses fell limp to the muddy ground. The slaughter only took a matter of minutes. The walker that had kicked me had fallen over me with an arrow in its eye socket. I looked around to see the attackers.

Through the darkness, I saw a figure walk past the carnage. He was searching the corpses, kicking them with his feet and feeling their bodies for treasure. I watched him for a moment, determining what kind of danger he might be. I saw the silhouette of a crossbow in his hand and an ax at his hip.

What other chance would I get?

I tried to call out to him, but there was a lump in my throat. It was hard to breathe. I tried again, and my voice just wouldn't come out. The stranger started to walk away, having finished his search of the corpses. Panic rose in my belly. He was leaving. He didn't even know I was here. He was continuing on his merry way and I couldn't speak. I was going to die here under this rotten monster.

I gritted my teeth. Fuck it, I thought, and I dug my fingers into my bruised and battered hip. All at once, the force in my throat dissipated and the most beautiful scream I have ever heard flew from my lips. My body convulsed in pain, rustling the leaves around me. My scream faded, ending with a sob of agony. It took me a moment to open my eyes again.

Through my clouded vision, I could see that the man had stopped. He was looking around, his hand on the trigger of his crossbow. Slowly, he took a step back in my direction. But he still didn't see me. I had to try again.

"… please," I managed. It was quiet and strangled. I sounded pathetic.

"Who's there?" he called out. His crossbow scanned the butchery before him.

This isn't working, I thought. I knew I had to move. To show him where I was. Despite my pain, I had to. I took my right arm, since my left was trapped beneath the corpse, and lashed out through the leaves. The pain of my dislocated shoulder made me cry out again, whimpering pitifully.

The stranger walked over to where I lay. Using his big, muddy boot, he pushed the corpse off of me, unintentionally knocking against my broken ribs. For a third time, I howled in pain, gritting my teeth and hissing fiercely.

The man dropped his crossbow beside him and crouched down. He brushed the leaves off my body quickly, looking me over as best he could in the darkness. "Are you bit?" he asked, his voice low and serious.

I shook my head and gasped at the pain that shot through my neck. "I can't move," I whispered. My voice was forced.

"You're gonna have to," he said. He put one arm under my chest and one under my knees. "There's more coming." With one heave, he lifted me from my muddy bed.

To muffle my scream of agony, I buried my face in his shoulder, my teeth digging into his tattered t-shirt. My body became limp. Stars burst behind my eyes. My head spun. Before I knew it, my world went black once again.


	2. Chapter 2

When next I opened my eyes, I was in a dimly lit room. I blinked away the spots from my vision and looked around. The ceiling and walls were wooden, like that of a cabin. The two windows that I could see were boarded up and covered with blankets. Furniture was scarce. A dresser, a desk, and the bed I slept in. A small fire burned in the fireplace. And in front of the fireplace sat the stranger.

He leaned against the brick hearth, cleaning his arrows with a cloth. He looked up when he heard me move. "How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Like shit," I groaned, sitting up slowly. I hissed and looked down at myself. My cheeks burned out of reflex. "I'm naked." It was more a statement than a question. In this new world, being embarrassed was a waste of energy. The last thing on one's mind was looking decent.

"Your clothes were covered in blood," he said coolly, examining his arrow. "I cut them off you so I could fix you up. I think there's some clothes around here somewhere, but I didn't think you would want me dressing you too."

I ran my fingers over the bandages on my chest and shoulder. "How many ribs are broken?" I asked to change the subject.

"Three that I could feel," he said. "Your shoulder is pretty ugly too. What did you do?"

I began to say that I couldn't remember, but then I realized that I did. My memory was no longer blank. It was fuzzy, but I could see it. "I was… part of a group," I said slowly. "Our camp was overrun. We had been… on the move for weeks." As I told it, it all came back to me. "We were tired, hungry, weak. I went on a run for supplies. But I was ambushed…" I touched my hand to my bruised throat. "I fought as best as I could. But they beat me, stripped me, and…" My chest felt tight. I held back tears. "By the time I got free and ran back to my group, I was too late… They were overrun." It was getting hard to breathe. "Angie, Paul, the twins… Twin girls. Seven years old. Blonde hair. Brown eyes. David, twelve years old, brown hair, brown eyes." I was talking so fast, on the verge of hyperventilating. I couldn't stop. The images were flooding me. Emotions were overcoming. The memories hit me hard. "Jackie. She was in her twenties. I can still see her screaming..." Tears welled. I was gasping.

The stranger came quickly over to me and put his hand on my good shoulder. "Breathe. You have to keep breathing."

"I can't stop…" Tears streamed down my cheeks. "I can still see their faces… I couldn't do anything." I looked up at him, wide eyed and aching. "Sixteen people. Five children. My brother Andrew…" I clawed at my chest, the pain overwhelming. Tears weren't enough. This sorrow wanted to rip me open and consume me. "I'm all that's left… Sixteen people."

The man grabbed my face between his hands. "Don't fight this. If you don't let it out, you won't survive out there." He looked at me with his deep brown eyes, serious and full of understanding. "Say their names."

My tears were rivers down my face. I hardly had air to breathe, but I spewed the names of my loved ones, one by one. The last name on my tongue was my brother's. My hands trembled. I took his hands from my face and held them in my lap. And I let myself cry. I cried harder than I ever have. I cried so deeply and painfully that my whole body wracked in sobs, my broken ribs aching in my chest. The stranger put his hand over my mouth to muffle my wails, but he let me cry for what felt like days.

It must have only been a couple of hours. My sobs finally subsided. My body was numb and my face tingled. By the time I stopped crying, the stranger was stroking my back absently. His hand still covered my mouth, but as I quieted, he took it back and wiped a mix of saliva and tears off on his pants.

Sniffling, I wiped my nose and looked over at the man. "Thank you," I said hoarsely. My lungs were exhausted, and I concentrated hard on breathing steadily. I was handed a bottle of water, for which I nodded my thanks and sipped it slowly but thirstily. When my throat was hydrated again, I asked, "What's your name stranger? And why are you helping me?"

"What's it matter? As soon as you're better, you're on your own," he said, standing and stretching. His voice was cold. "I couldn't just leave you in the mud. But you're a liability now. So once you feel better, see ya."

"If you didn't want me around, you should have just kept walking," I said. "It would have saved you the medical supplies."

"Hey, it's not like it was easy for me," he snapped. "And I have a thing called a conscience. It's been a real pain in the ass lately."

"Then don't act like I'm such a burden. I didn't need your help," I said, pushing the blanket off me.

"Is that why you called out to me? Because you had it all under control?" His tone was rising in anger, but I knew it wasn't all directed at me.

"I'll just leave now. I feel fine." I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, stood on my feet, and fell to the wooden floor. My knees betrayed me.

As I hit the floor, the stranger ran to catch me, to help me up, to make sure I was okay. He didn't say it, but it was in the way he moved. His reflex contradicted his words. With his help, I scrambled back to the bed.

"Bullshit," I said as he checked my bandages. "You're fawning like a mother hen. Fuck you and your tough-guy tactic. This is more than 'conscience'."

He sighed and looked at me for a long time. "Daryl," he said. "My name is Daryl."

I searched his face for any sign of emotion. It was a blank slate. "Anna," I said. "What time is it?"

"I don't know, but it's after midnight. Maybe another two hours until the sun comes up." He walked back over to his arrows and gathered them up.

"How long was I asleep?"

"A whole day," he said. He put his arrows on the bedside table. "You must have been exhausted. You slept like the dead."

"Not funny," I said, lying back on the bed.

The silence stretched between us like a bottomless chasm. He walked around and straightened things, fiddled with other things, and all around avoided striking up conversation or making eye contact. I watched him, trying to think of something to say. I wanted to talk to him. To ask him questions. I wanted a normal human experience. A simple conversation about weather or politics or movies. I wanted to find out that we went to the same high school or that we both liked peanut butter and banana sandwiches. I wanted a crush, to fall in love, to have opportunity knock at the door and call for rash behavior. I almost craved it. But I knew that the days where conversation like that existed were over. Finally I sighed.

"Well, you've seen me naked," I said softly. "And you've seen me cry. That's more than most people see of me in their lifetimes." I rolled over onto my side, wincing from the ache in my chest. "Tell me something about yourself."

He cast me a look over his shoulder, and then he chuckled. "No. We're not doing this."

"Doing what?"

"Getting to know each other." He shook his head. "If I wanted to get to know someone, I would have joined another group after my…" He stopped suddenly, his hands motionless on the ax he was cleaning.

I slowly sat up, my eyes fixed on his still frame. "Daryl," I said carefully. The name tasted funny on my tongue. His words connected dots in my brain. By the tone of his voice, the rigidity in his shoulders as he stood away from me, the whiteness in his knuckles as he gripped the ax, I understood. "Is that why you let me cry like you did?"

"Forget it," he growled, suddenly angry. "It's none of your business, you stupid girl." He threw his ax across the floor, knocking it into the wall. "I should have never helped you."

"You keep saying that like you're trying to convince yourself." I stood on unsteady legs. I probably shouldn't have gotten up, and I knew it was going to hurt me, but I couldn't help it. I was pressing him, and I couldn't stop myself. "Daryl, what happened to you?"

"Leave me alone," he said lowly, dangerously. "Just leave me alone. It's better that way." When I said nothing, he looked at me, his eyes cold again. "I've already shed my tears. I thought I would be able to forget them, but I still see their faces, just like you saw yours." He pounded his fist on the desk. "You aren't the only one that got robbed of the ones you loved. But my friends lost hope. They scattered instead of sticking together, or even trying to find each other after the smoke cleared." He gritted his teeth. "They fought, sure, but it was all in vain. Every last one of them found a new hole to hide in, alone or in a pair, it didn't matter. They died in fear. Broken, pathetic. After a few weeks, they had lost the will to keep fighting. The life they had grown so comfortable with was ripped away, and they were left vulnerable, like babies again. They weren't the friends I'd grown to love." His face showed pain. True pain. "They were fucking cowards."

I didn't say anything. There was nothing I could say. I knew that our pains weren't the kind that could be compared. He had lost loved ones, and so had I. We were both alone. It seems we did have something in common after all.

It wasn't until a few minutes had passed that I realized how close to him I was. Only a few inches separated us. I cleared my throat and took a step back. But as my foot hit the floor, my knees buckled again and I toppled backwards onto the wooden planks. There was a sickening crunch, and agony shot up my left leg. I bit into my lip to stifle my moan.

Daryl sighed. "If you don't stay in bed, you're never gonna heal," he said, scooping me up in his arms again. "And now you can add a twisted ankle to your list of injuries." He set me down on the bed and sat by my feet. He took my ankle in his hands and looked it over. "Nothing major. It'll heal overnight." He began massaging my swelling limb with his thumbs.

I watched him carefully while he kneaded. "You were lonely, weren't you?" I said. "That's why you saved me." My eyes caught his for a second, and then he dropped his gaze back to his work. "Exactly how long has it been since you've seen another human?"

He continued working his thumbs in lazy circles. "Seen? Only a few days. Talked to? A long time." He chuckled again, humorless. "I never thought I'd miss it. I was used to being on my own again." He looked up at me. "This last year alone really dragged."

A year. That last statement hung in the air and stretched between us. Our eyes were locked, searching, thinking. My stomach was in knots as his thumbs worked at the ones in my ankle. I felt exposed under his intense gaze.

I swallowed hard, wracking my brain for a subject change. "Did you ever play truth or dare?" I asked slowly. He didn't answer, so I continued. "I think we should play. To pass the time." My eyes wandered to watch the movement of his hands.

"Truth or dare, Anna?" he said. His voice was low and serious. A small smirk played at the corner of his lips.

"Truth," I said quickly.

"How long has it been since a man touched you like this?" His fingers moved up my leg, massaging my calf now. I could still feel his eyes on my face.

"A very long time," I said, my voice breaking. He chuckled but kept his eyes on me. "Truth or dare?"

"Dare," he said. His grip tightened on my leg.

I thought for a long minute. "I dare you to kiss me."

There was a silence after I spoke. We just looked at each other. My cheeks burned at my recklessness. I was exposed and irresponsible. Opportunity was knocking and yelling at me to take this moment and be rash, insensible, ludicrous. In one sentence, I had made myself emotionally vulnerable to this stranger who was hardened and full of hate. I knew nothing about him, but I would be parting ways with him in a short time, and I wasn't afraid to be risky as long as a consequence didn't involve death. Although, I wasn't sure of it. But I didn't back down.

Suddenly, he let out a laugh that startled me. "Do you know how ridiculous that sounds?" he said.

I did. We were two strangers, in a strange cabin, in the middle of god-knows-where, more than likely surrounded by walkers, and here we sat having a semi-normal human experience. I didn't normally put myself on the table like I was, but I has nothing left to lose. I was living for the moments I had stolen from death's hand. This man saved my life, I felt I could trust him with it. And it was easy to forget about this monstrous world for just this minute.

"Hey, if you're too chicken shit—" I started to tease, but my insult was cut off by his mouth.

He kissed me with hunger. It wasn't a soft, tentative, easy kiss. It was fiery, igniting instantly, consuming the both of us. His desperation and enthusiasm as his lips devoured mine overcame me, and I quickly returned his ferocity. Every cell in my body was alive with electricity. My belly filled with excitement.

He leaned over me, lifting one of his hands and knotting it in my hair. He deepened the kiss, pulling me close. I felt the ache of my broken ribs as he moved closer to me, but I buried the discomfort. This kiss was the sweetest thing I had ever tasted.

When he broke the kiss, too soon for my liking, I could see the sinister look in his eyes. He licked his lips and grinned slyly. "Well, Anna, we still have a couple hours before I can go on a run," he said. "Truth or dare?"


	3. Chapter 3

He dared me to kiss him again, and I did so eagerly. My whole body was alert, teeming with energy. I hadn't felt this alive in a very long time. I kissed him with passion, running my tongue along the inside of his mouth. The fact that he was a stranger only heightened my excitement. I didn't care that we both smelled of poor hygiene. I didn't care that his mouth tasted like salt and mud. I didn't care about anything except this feeling. I needed more of it.

I dared him to touch my breasts. It was bold, I knew, but I was too impatient. And to my delight, he didn't hesitate. His touch was gentle, and I could tell he was trying to be careful of my injuries. He softly massaged my breasts, his calloused fingertips rough against the soft gauze of my bandages. The jolts of pleasure coursing through my veins made the pain less noticeable.

It went on as such for a wonderful little while, with one of us daring the other to take things a step or two further. But it quickly got to the point when the games were over. I was consumed, and I knew he was too. My mouth moved ferociously on his, kissing and sucking and biting. My hands fumbled with his pants while he pulled his shirt over his head.

Once he was bare above me, and I lay naked below him, we look at each other steadily for the first time since our fervor began. I looked into his hungry eyes, and he peered down at my flushed face, searching, contemplating.

"This might be difficult with your injuries," he mused. "I'll have to be very careful."

"Or," I said cleverly. I pushed him back and sat myself up. Ignoring my protesting joints, I finagled my body around his, pressed him flat on the bed, and positioned myself on his hips, straddling him. "We could do it this way. It'll be easier."

He narrowed his eyes at me, smirking. "You sure you wanna do this?" he said, his voice low and dangerous. It sent shivers through me.

"You talk too much," I said, and kissed him. In the same moment, I pressed my hips down on his, pushing him inside me.

My breath left me in a long, slow exhale. It hurt, which told me that it had been longer than I'd thought since I got to do this. I sat still above him, eyes closed, waiting for my body to adjust. I could hear him moan, soft and deep. In the back of my mind, I wondered how long it had been for him.

After a minute or so, I moved, sluggishly, testing myself. I could still feel the initial hurt, but it was duller, less shocking. A few more tentative movements, and I could barely feel it at all. I raised myself up, and pressed down, a little quicker this time. He moaned again and gripped my hips with his hands. I realized I was more fatigued than I thought, so I was grateful when he started moving my hips for me.

Our bodies danced together, like blades of grass nudged by the same strong wind. Sweat beaded on our skin, mingling where our figures came together. I could hear myself moaning, hissing, sighing. Once, when he ran his hands up my ribs to touch my chest, his knuckles bumped my injury, and he had to cover my mouth to stifle my whimper. But it didn't slow us down. We kept moving, faster and more aggressive, kissing and stroking and scratching.

I could feel his body beginning to tense. His hands started lifting me off of him, pulling out of me. But I didn't want it to end. I didn't want him to leave just yet. I took his hands in mine and pushed my body down on his, rocking my hips, watching the pleasure cross his face. He groaned loudly, so I covered his mouth with mine, and I felt the warm bloom inside me. At the same time, I felt the unfamiliar and sweet rush of ecstasy throughout my entire body. It dripped through my veins and made every muscle convulse and retract. I moaned into his moan and squeezed his hands viciously. Our mouths parted, and he exhaled against my lips, raspy, rough, and ragged. His gaze met mine, and I could see the accusation in his hazy eyes.

"Don't worry," I breathed, kissing down his neck. "Nothing can happen. Not for me, anyway." I kissed his collarbone and then sat upright, looking down at him.

"You're pretty reckless," he said with a chuckle. His hand found my face, stroked my cheek gently.

"I'm pretty something." I smiled into his hand, and then looked down at myself. "I'm pretty filthy. And probably pretty stinky."

Daryl chuckled again, heartily. "There's a shower here. It's cold, but it's well water. I need to clean your wounds anyway." He carefully moved me off of him and sat up. "Come on."

He stood me up and helped me walk, or limp, over to the wall by the fireplace. He opened a door the same paneling as the wall; in the dim light I couldn't even tell it was there. It revealed a small, modest bathroom with only a toilet, a sink, a broken mirror, and an unfinished stall shower.

Daryl helped me into the shower and leaned me against the wall. He unwrapped my bandages slowly, being very careful not to reopen my flesh wounds. I had to hold back a shriek when he turned on the water. It was ice cold and smelled sulfur. Thankfully, he didn't waste any time. He brandished a white bar of soap and began to wash me, thoroughly, gently, quickly. He even ran the water through my hair and washed all the dirt and debris from the tangled tresses.

He wrapped me in a towel and sat me down on the toilet lid while he washed himself. I was shivering so much that I could almost feel my broken ribs jostle in my chest. I only had to sit for a few minutes, because then he was done showering and helping me back into the main room of the cabin.

The warmth from the fireplace felt like a welcome embrace. I all but collapsed on the small rug, drawn in by the heat and the dance of the flames. I hugged the towel tightly around me while Daryl retrieved clean bandages for my wounds.

I sat naked in the cozy glow from the hearth, perfectly still as my injuries were redressed. I gazed longingly into the fire, thinking back to the careful fires my camp would have at sunset. They were joyous times, since starting camp fires was so risky out in the open; not only to draw walkers, but also disreputable humans.

"With the rate you're healing, you might be able to leave in a day or two," Daryl said, putting his supplies away. "The worst of it is done."

I didn't respond. I knew the worst wasn't behind me. Once I was able to move without pain, I would be on my own. I hadn't been alone for quite a few months now, and I had grown accustomed to the company of people. Now that I had no one to protect, no one to stay alive for, I didn't know how well I would fare on my own.

I ran my fingers over the fresh bandages on my chest. There was a sinking feeling in my stomach as I thought of what the following days would bring. The harsh reality all but washed away the wonderment from the sex we just shared, like my dirt and blood down the drain of the shower. But before it slipped away completely, I isolated the sensation, clung to it, savored it. I would need to remember this feeling, of satisfaction, of fulfillment, of companionship.


End file.
